


Just Her Name

by The_Malevolent_Mountain_Queen



Category: the bright sessions
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, Motel room, Nightmare, One Shot, Partial Mind Control, Sleep talking, Swearing, Trauma, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Malevolent_Mountain_Queen/pseuds/The_Malevolent_Mountain_Queen
Summary: ”You talk about her in your sleep, you know.”“...I do?”“Yeah... just her name. Uh... sometimes.”“...Sorry about all the nightmares.”“It’s fine. Not like I’m getting deep sleep in these shitty motel beds, anyway.”-a week later in August





	Just Her Name

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! First publicly released TBS fanfic! Please be advised that despite my repeated revisions and editing, there may or may not be some cringeworthy phrases still left in here. I’m young and small and learning. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.  
> I may end up making this less family-friendly in the future if requested for more chapters. As of now, I don’t plan to make it any longer, but if plans change, I definitely know where I’m taking this.  
> All that said, enjoy!

You know how the human mind will sometimes catch itself between dreams and the waking world at a ruthless equilibrium that’s as blissful as it is disquieting to the soul?

Yeah, that bullshit happened to Damien all the time. Because, you know, of course it did.

Blinking awake to the sound of disgruntled panting from the neighboring motel bed, a certain atypical mimic clutched the spreadsheets and shuddered violently, sweat bleeding from his forehead.

For a minute, Mark just sat there, failing to steady himself. “Oh my god,” he murmured. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh god, god… god…” It sounded like he could barely breathe.

Picking up his casual demeanor right from where he left it when they went to bed, Damien forced himself out of bed and squinted at the man, raising an eyebrow. “Mark?”

Nothing.

“Mark, what the hell are you doing?” Damien was no idiot; he knew. But the mask was on before he could stop himself.

When he gave up on waiting, Mark turned to face him, and judging by the way he jerked, the manipulator could tell it wasn’t of his own doing. But what did it matter? “Sam. Damien.”

“Yeah…?” he replied, a little more freaked out than he cared to admit.

“Damien, where’s some water?”

“Uh…” He shifted his eyes around the room, doing anything he could to avoid direct contact with Mark’s, which he knew were glazed over and beyond recognition. “It’s… in the fridge, next to the…” When Mark began to move, he interrupted with urgency, “No, stay there. I’ll… I’ll get it.”

Mark sniffed. “Thanks.”

Yanking a fresh bottle from the shelf, Damien briefly closed his eyes and tried to ignore a throbbing temple or two. _Third fucking night in a row. Jesus._

He was, you know, totally not thrown off by how willing he was to alleviate the guy’s suffering so quickly. Or that when he returned, Mark had his face buried deeply in his knees, shaking. Nope. This was normal.

He actually made a point to be careful with the way he approached him. That was something new. If it was a terror, he had no idea how receptive Mark’s subconscious would be to his ability in the midst of it. Then again, the unconscious mind was mainly the gateway tool to unlock the rest. Still. Mark, sleep-fighting, had nearly strangled him about a month ago. He wasn’t taking any chances. “Mark?” he called out again, this time as softly as he could manage.

Mark lifted his head and cautiously reached for the bottle, clenching and re-clenching his fists like a baby.

“Ice cold, fresh from the tundra,” Damien joked. It fell flat among the crowd. “You-uh… want me to sit down with ya, or…?”

Mark nodded before guzzling the water until he choked. Once it was all down the hatch, he swung his legs to the edge of the bed, bent over towards the floor and out of shape, and gripped his hair follicles. All Damien could do was watch with morbid curiosity and a foreign stab of guilt.

He willed Mark to look him in the eye until he found him again. The coma kid’s hands still trembled. For a moment, it was quiet. Then Mark slowly outstretched his hand until it found its way to Damien’s bare chest. Damien’s first instinct was to recoil. But he found that instead of retracting it, Mark only pressed it deeper.

This wasn’t something unexpected; strange things had a habit of revealing themselves during Mark’s visions of all those years being imprisoned in the walls of the all-too-well-known corporate hellsite that was the AM. Damien had learned to let them pass naturally. Interrupting them proved none-too-beneficial for either party.

And yet, to some degree, he was curious. “Are you… awake?”

Rather than a direct answer, Mark swallowed and said, “You’re really here.”

“What?”

“Your heart is beating. In your chest. You’re alive.”

Damien couldn’t help but wince at his altered mental state. One would think after so many years of bending the world to his will, he would be used to this sort of thing.

But trauma-induced nightmares? Not in the slightest.

Not from other people, anyway.

“Yep. I’m... here.” _Unlike_ some _folks that you just adore_ so _much_. Damien had to smile, if only half-heartedly. He found it was comforting to Mark specifically. Besides, the sooner he was calmed the hell down, the sooner they could both get whatever shuteye was left.

Mark sat there for what felt like at least three minutes, saying nothing. And then out of nowhere, he pulled Damien into a warm embrace so weak yet so persistent that he had to accept it.

Two shirtless bisexual men. Hugging. In a motel room. Alone. Together. At two in the morning.

Damien had been in less dignified situations.

When Mark showed no signs of moving for longer than the “beyond awkward” timeframe, Damien leaned down far enough to spot a glimpse of the man’s sleeping face. Unsure of how else to do it, he lightly tapped Mark’s temples with a few fingers until he rose from his stupor. “You-uh…” He cleared his throat. “You alright?”

Mark pulled away and shook his head with a humorless laugh. “Not sure I’ll ever be.” His shoulders slumped. “But… thank you. And, um… I’m... sorry. About that.”

“It’s… whatever.” Damien knew his words were coming off begrudgingly, but there wasn’t a better alternative, at least not at the moment.

Unless…

_Nah. Too risky. He’d know._

But would he?

He needed it, anyway. He wanted it. Deep down, he had to, right? Damien was doing him a favor, if anything.

But he had to start the thought out small. From there, he would let it grow by itself. He had to muffle his feelings in the meantime, so as not to-

“Can I... lay next to you until I fall asleep again?” Mark asked, breaking the stillness.

_God fucking damn it all to hell!_

“I know I kind of just said that out of the blue, but… I really don’t trust myself to be alone right now. My thoughts feel… scrambled or something. I get that you need your personal space, and we absolutely never have to talk about this again, but… Fuck, that really came out of my mouth, huh? Yeah, never mind. I can just-”

“Get in before I throw you out the window,” Damien muttered.

Mark chuckled in a way that was somehow very patronizing. “You don't have the balls.”

“Let me make it more clear, then. Get in before you throw yourself out the window.”

“We’re on the first and… only floor, anyway.”

“ _Mark_.”

“Okay, okay! Geez. I’m not getting under the covers, though. It’s too damn hot in here.”

“Agreed.” Damien flopped on his back onto the bed with a creak that threatened to snap the springs in half, his hands tucked uncomfortably behind his head. He was sure it looked cool, though.

Mark stood before him, clearly wanting to make this seem as platonic as humanly possible.

 _‘You know what? Who cares? It’s just Damien. I’m not about to cuddle up to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. He has no reason to tell anyone, anyway.’_ He fired off the thought as quickly as he could. As always, it fell into place, and Mark sighed, gradually fitting neatly to intersect Damien’s body.

_Not weird. Not weird at all. ~~Just like the time he came out the shower when he thought I was still at the store. Nothing out of the ordinary here. ‘Two dudes… chillin’ on the spring bed… no feet apart ‘cuz they’re not bi.’~~_

~~Damien suddenly burst into laughter at his own thoughts, his tired ass not even bothering to smother it.~~

~~Mark chuckled a bit himself. “What?”~~

~~He cleared his throat. “Have I told you about Vine yet?”~~

~~“No…? What the hell is a ‘Vine’?”~~

~~“We’ll… talk about it in the morning.”~~ _At least from here, he’ll be comfortable enough to do… basically anything. Such as… Well, brain? Your queue. Surprise me. Also, ‘I’m going to forget about this in the morning and assume that I crawled over here in my sleep.’_ He sent that one next.

Mark pulled himself closer, using Damien’s shoulders as leverage. He absentmindedly rested his head under Damien’s jaw. He was still shaking.

Once he had fallen far enough away from immediate consciousness, Damien heard himself murmur, “You’re… safe.” After a few long seconds, he added, “You can survive just fine without them.”

It wasn't exactly a hug, per se. But it was enough of one for Damien to do his best to appreciate it while it lasted. But Mark’s feet were so cold, and he gave little kicks every now and then that just so happened to be right before Damien was about to drift off.

On occasion, Mark’s breathing would quicken, and he would squeeze harder. His jaw would lock at times. His eyes would shut with more force than necessary. And cliché as it was, his heartbeat ran a mile a second. Damien would do almost anything to get him to just lay still, for the sleeper’s sake, sure, but mainly his own.

The way he twitched and tensed up his muscles made Damien feel things that he almost never thought he would again. And something about that made him hold Mark just a bit tighter.

At some point in the night that he couldn't put a label on, the kicking hadn't relented, and he was growing as desperate as he was exhausted. Too tired to care, he struggled just enough to move down and snugly fit himself along Bryant’s body like a puzzle piece. He was sweating like a pig, but there was no longer time to think. “Just… relax, damn it.”

Mark buried himself deeper into the other’s neck, presumably by accident. Damien clenched his teeth and felt his face redden. _Fuck_.

“Sam…”

“Mark, just go to bed.”

“Sam.”

“I'm not your precious Sam.”

“Sam, please.”

“Stop it.”

“Nnnn.”

Damien sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Hold me.” Was he about to...? Really? “Hold me, Sam.”

At some point, Damien decided to give exactly zero shits. _‘Sam’s not here. Now go to sleep.’_

That's when the whimpering started. It started out faintly at first, then spiraled into a pattern of uneven grunts and whines.

“What the _hell_ are you _doing_?” he asked again.

“Sam.”

“Oh my _god_. Stop!”

“Mmm.”

Damien growled and considered kicking him out. But then…

“Sam, please don’t leave.” For a moment, everything was quiet. “Sam, please.” Mark was crying again.

He couldn’t take this for much longer. “Mark, wake up.”

“Hmm?” Bryant rose lazily and blinked like a sloth. “Damien?”

He didn’t have the patience or the energy to answer.

“Why are you crying?” Mark asked.

“Huh? I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“You’re the one crying. Feel your face.”

“Feel yours.” He reached closer until his thumb brushed away what was clearly a tear from Damien’s eyelid.

“Your soggy face probably soaked into mine. It’s like a river on that thing,” Damien said quickly. _Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool_.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right.” Mark yawned. Before either of them knew it, he was fast asleep again.

Slowly, painfully, Damien allowed the mist of his mind to surround his consciousness and shut down his body. The last thing that crossed his mind was the pair of arms that encircled his throat.

At this point, he didn’t care if they ended up cutting off his air supply. 

He was finally getting that sleep. 

Finally. 

God, finally. 

“Damien?” His voice sounded so groggy and distant now. 

“...Yes, Mark?” _One more time. I can handle it one. More. Time._

“What’s a meme?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I... am sorry.


End file.
